


He's just a kid, man!

by alikatastic



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ian lived on the streets for ten years, Iggy is Ian's friend, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Protective Iggy Milkovich, Rape/Non-con Elements, the non-con is not grafic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29270289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikatastic/pseuds/alikatastic
Summary: Violence in the south side was expected. The moment you popped out of your mother's womb, you were tossed into a  cycle of doing unto others what has been done unto you. There was no room for softness. There was no crying in bloody knuckles and haymakers. Ian ran away from his abusive father at the age of 8. He promised no one would ever treat him like a punching bag ever again; too bad he didn't know there were worst things to be than a punching bag.The next thing he knew, Iggy Milkovich was trying to be his friend. He was buying him new jackets and punching abusive clients.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	He's just a kid, man!

Violence in the south side was expected. The moment you popped out of your mother's womb, you were tossed into a cycle of doing unto others what has been done unto you. There was no room for softness. There was no crying in bloody knuckles and haymakers. Ian ran away from his abusive father at the age of 8. He promised no one would ever treat him like a punching bag ever again; too bad he didn't know there were worst things to be than a punching bag.

Iggy watched the gangly redhead move from truck to truck for over an hour while he waited on his older brother. He watched as the young boy, probably no older than 17, climb into a truck after truck. After the fourth truck, Iggy was disgusted to notice not one of the men had turned him down. The thought of a boy the same age as his sister selling his body at some shitty truck stop, made him sick to his stomach. When he saw him stagger out of the truck next to him, Iggy rolled down the window.

"Hey, kid! You okay?"

The redhead looked around, unsure who he was talking to. "Yeah."

Iggy shook his head; he could tell he was lying. He was fighting to keep himself steady, making Iggy think he was given drugs. "You look fucking starved, and I have a sandwich. Come eat it or whatever."

He looked up, squinting at Iggy in distrust. "What you want?"

Iggy laughed. "You are going to blow away in the fucking wind. It's just a fucking sandwich."

He scowled, hopping into the truck. Once the door was shut, he reached for Iggy's pants. "Woah!" Iggy pushed his hands away. "I'm not gay."

"None of the guys in these trucks are. A mouth is a mouth." He shrugged.

Iggy handed him a sandwich wrapped in a paper wrap. "Eat that."

He took it. "It poisoned?"

Iggy scoffed. "Why would I tell you?"

He shrugged. "Valid point." He opened the sandwich and took a bite. "Chicken salad? Haven't had that in years."

"So?" Iggy asked.

"Yeah?" he tilted his head, finishing the sandwich in three bites.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Kid? I am not a fucking kid." He rolled his eyes. "Ian."

"Fuck off with that, not a kid shit. You ain't no older than my baby sister."

Ian laughed. "It don't matter anyway, but I guess I turned 17 a few months ago."

Iggy rolled his eyes. "Fucking knew it."

"So, you going to murder me now or what?"

Iggy sputtered. "What the fuck?"

Ian shrugged, toying with a loose thread on his sleeve. "You don't want to fuck, so why else would you want me in your truck?"

"Shit, I don't know. Maybe because an actual fucking child has been walking around selling themselves for the past hour." Iggy looked at him with rage roiling in his gut.

"I'm not a kid, man. I haven't been for a long time. I've been doing this shit for years." Ian looked away, nervous about turning away from a strange man but unable to look him in the eye.

"And it's fucking cold. You don't even have a damn jacket. What kind of pimp do you have?"

Ian laughed at the absurdity of it all. Who was this man questioning his pimp? "I, uh, don't have one." Ian grimaced. "I ditched him in Texas."

Iggy looked at him, trying not to see his baby sister, but it wasn't working. "That's fucking dangerous, you know? Pimps are supposed to protect you." Iggy paused, hating how he felt the need to protect the little shit. "I'll bring you a fucking jacket tomorrow or some shit."

Ian huffed out a small laugh giving him a small smile. "I'm not here every day; that would be just plain dangerous."

Iggy rolled his eyes. "How did you end up doing this?"

"You don't ask that, man! That's rude!"

"Shit. How was I supposed to know that."

Ian sighed, rubbing his bruised knuckles. "I was tired of my old man using me as a punching bag." Ian looked up at Iggy through his eyelashes.

Iggy nodded in understanding. "Yeah, my dad likes to do that. Especially to my baby brother." Iggy looked away, watching trucks start to pull away.

"You ever stop him?" it was a whisper that Iggy almost missed.

"Course. I try to anyway. I did a lot when he was a kid, but now he tries to get dad to hit him. I think he does it, so dad only sees him, not our sister."

Ian absently nodded, running a long finger down his face. "My big brother never helped, but I think he was just scared. He's only a year older than me."

"That don't mean shit, little red. He was just a useless fucking dick." Iggy scowled at the thought of all the beatings he took for his brother and how no one protected Ian.

"Fuck, he probably is, blondie; he was a fucking kid too. I can't blame him for not fighting off a grown man."

"Blondie?!?"

Ian laughed at the look on his face. "It's not like you told me your name, Curls McGee."

"Curls Mcg… what the fuck? I'm Ignatius. Friends call me Iggy." Iggy looked proud, making Ian laugh.

"Alright, Ignasty, I should get back to work." Ian looked resigned, making Iggy's heart clench.

"Look, man, I'm waiting on my brother to show up. Why don't you just chill here until he gets here?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Iggaroo. You want me to wait around for another strange man to show up? It's like begging to be killed."

Iggy opened the center console and pulled out a gun, making Ian flinch. "Look, it's loaded." He showed Ian the full clip and switched off the safety. "Hold on to it until Colin gets here."

Ian laughed with his entire body then grabbed the gun. "You're fucking dumb ignoramus. I could kill you."

Iggy shook his head. "Hope you don't little red." Iggy paused, looking out over the lot again. His brother was now almost two hours late. He looked back at Ian, who shivered. "Look, about that jacket, you ain't got a pimp to take care of you, so I got to. Tell me where you'll be, and I'll bring you one."

Ian smiled. "Fucking fine, you dolt." Ian pulled out a phone and unlocked it. "What's your number?"

Iggy gave him his number. Ian called him, so Iggy also had his. "All right, got it saved." Iggy showed his screen with the name little red.

Ian laughed, showing his. "You have no imagination Iguanodon."

"You're a ballsy little guy." Iggy laughed.

Ian rolled his eyes. "So, about this jacket, you know you don't have to, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Iggy shrugged, giving Ian a smirk. "I just want to."

"You're not trying to get your dick sucked for free, right?"

"Nah, man."

They hung out in the truck for another twenty minutes after they realized they both loved alternative rock music. They discussed their favorite bands and songS until Colin knocked on the window, making them both jump. Ian hoped out, quickly waving at Iggy as he jogged away from the truck. Iggy smiled after he noticed Ian left with his gun.

"The fuck was that?" Colin spat. Colin watched Ian walk away and up to a new truck. "A fucking hooker? Dad would slit your fucking throat if he knew! You let a fucking dude suck your dick?"

"No! He's just a fucking kid, same age as Mandy. He doesn't even have a coat, man. Or a fucking pimp."

"So, you decide d to help him? My fucking god, you're going to get us killed." Colin pulled the door open. "Fucking move. I'm driving."

Later the next morning, Iggy woke to his dad slamming doors and screaming. Apparently, his youngest brother, Mickey, had fucked something up. He walked out of his room to hear Mickey yell back at his dad.

"I don't have time to beat the shit out of some guy because he likes dick! I got shit to fucking do today, and fag bashing ain't part of it."

They all knew it was coming, and Mickey never flinched. Terry reared back and clocked Mickey, sending him to the floor. "The fucking aids monkey deserves it."

Iggy ran in, grabbing his dad off of Mickey and pulled him back. "Colin needs to talk to you about yesterday's haul. He's down at the Diaz's place."

Terry pulled away from Iggy's grasp, looking at Mickey. "I'll deal with you later."

After Terry was gone, Iggy looked at Mickey and shook his head. "You couldn't have kept your mouth shut?"

"Fuck you! He wants to go bash on some 13-year-old. I am not going to be part of that."

Iggy huffed, pulling out his phone, sending a quick text to Ian. _I'm bringing you a jacket today. Where will you be?_ He looked back at Mickey, sizing him up. "You got a jacket I can have?"

"Why the fuck would you want one of my jackets?" Mickey's face scrunched up in confusion, crinkling the blood around his nose.

"I met a, uh, I guess, friend yesterday. I told him I'd bring him a jacket." Iggy didn't know if friend was the right term; sure, he liked the kid, but Milkovich's didn't have friends.

"A friend?" Iggy could tell Mickey was thinking the same thing.

"Maybe not, friend, I don't know, but he's just a damn kid, and I told him I'd bring him a jacket."

"So you met a kid and want to give him my shit?" Mickey smiled, knowing he was getting Iggy riled up.

"It's all Colin's fault, fucker was two hours late for the pickup. I watched this poor kid shiver going from truck to truck, and all I could think was he's Mandy's age. I'd hope someone would give Mandy a jacket as she whored herself out to survive."

Mickey ran a finger over his eyebrow, sighing in exasperation. "A male prostitute? You are so fucking stupid. Dad will kill you and him if he finds out." Mickey tapped out a cigarette, lighting it. "I'll get you a jacket, but don't drag me into this shit. I can't be seen around no fags dad will fucking kill me."

Iggy knew Mickey was gay, so did Colin, but it didn't matter. If Terry ever found out, they would be finding pieces of their brother all over Chicago. He pulled out his phone, seeing Ian texted back.

_Truckstop on Lincoln. Be there all day._

Iggy typed out a quick reply. _My brother is getting you a coat. Be there in an hour._

_Sure thing, Ignescent!_

Iggy laughed, looking up to see Mickey shaking his head. _See you then match stick_

Iggy and Mickey rode to the mall to get a jacket. They stepped into a busy store, not even noticing the name. Mickey bumped into Iggy, grabbing his attention.

"What size you need?"

"I don't know."

Mickey shook his head, looking around. "Fucking moron. How big is this guy?"

"I mean, tall and fucking lanky. Probably five-eleven, maybe 130. Get it bigger, more comfortable."

Mickey rolled his eyes as he flipped through some hooded leather jackets. Once he found the size he thought would work, he shrugged it on. They calmly walked out of the store and made their way back to the car. It was far too easy. Mickey shrugged off the jacket and handed it to Iggy.

When Iggy pulled up to the truck stop, Ian was nowhere to be found. In reality, he knew Ian was probably in a truck making some money. He hated the thought of a kid having to do that. He saw a door sling open, and Ian hopped out with a scowl. Iggy felt rage boil in his gut as he saw the rapidly forming bruise on his face. Iggy slammed his door open, rushing over to Ian. He handed Ian the jacket and gently cupped his cheek. He saw the evident bruise forming around his eye.

"He do that?" He pointed to the truck Ian just got out of.

"I handled it. It's fine, Iggy." Ian looked away, clearly embarrassed.

Iggy handed him the keys to the car. "I'll be back."

Iggy marched over to the truck with his hand on his gun. He pulled the door open with a scowl on his face. He wasn't prepared to see the driver staring at a penknife in his leg. Iggy laughed, looking from the driver to Ian, who waved from his car. Iggy shut the truck door and marched back to his car. He took his seat, looking over at Ian.

Iggy laughed, shaking his head. "Was that a penknife?"

Ian shrugged. "Yeah, I've done this for a long time. I can handle myself."

"Alright, Fanta, want to go get some food?"

Ian huffed out a laugh. "I can't. I missed so much work yesterday. I got bills to pay."

"What kind of bills do you have? Your fucking 17." He watched Ian roll his eyes as if it were obvious. "Just a drive-thru then. I can hit up white castle."

Ian shook his head, finally agreeing. He wasn't sure why he was hanging around Iggy, but he kind of liked the dude. Iggy took them through the line and parked the car near a park so that they could eat. They spent an hour cutting up and listening to music. Iggy felt a strange connection with the redhead and wanted to take care of him. He knew it wasn't an attraction; it was more he saw his siblings in him. He couldn't believe Ian had an older brother who let him whore himself out.

"Have you seen your brother since you left?"

"Once, it didn't turn out good. He blamed me for some shit that happened then left." Ian shrugged like it was no big deal.

"If my brother ran from home, I don't think I could leave him if I found him again. I'd either have to drag him back home or stay around." Iggy ran his hand through his curly hair watching the ducks in the lake.

"Maybe you're a better brother than he is." Ian tossed his trash in the open bag. "Or maybe your brother is worth it."

"Don't say that little red. You didn't do anything wrong." Iggy noticed Ian looked sad and maybe ashamed.

"I think maybe I should have just let that dead beat keep hitting me. They've had some hard times since I left. My mom even had another kid, then she booked it, of course. Like she always does. I think he was just mad that I left too." Ian tugged on the sleeve of the too-big jacket with a small smile. He really liked the jacket; it was warm.

"How old were you when you ran? You said you've been doing this a long time, so how long are we talking about?"

Ian hesitated with a small amount of fear in his eyes; he didn't want Iggy to pity him. "I left when I was eight, lived on the streets for a while. The whoring started when I was twelve, I think. Maybe eleven, I don't know; the years blur together. I came back to Illinois last year. That's when I ran into my brother and sister; she was the one who recognized me."

"You have a sister?"

"Two actually and three brothers. I haven't seen most of them in almost eight years."

"That's a big ass family, man. No one would help you when your dad beat on you?" Iggy asked

"My older sister was only eleven. The younger ones were only five and six. They couldn't do anything. He never hurt them. It don't matter, though. I can't go back." Ian watched Iggy taking in the information. "I got to get back. I got rent to pay, man."

Iggy dropped him off at the stop with a small smile. He promised Ian to bring him a new knife later in the week. When Ian laughed, it made Iggy feel a little bit better about leaving him behind. He hated leaving a kid to get fucked by grown-ass men for money. He liked the kid; he was a little punk with a fighting spirit. If he hadn't left, he could see Ian being friends with Mickey and Mandy. He could see Ian sitting on the couch playing GTA with his siblings fitting right in.

Two days later, Iggy was worried about Ian. He had decided not to reach out yet; he didn't want to scare the kid away. So when he got a text from Ian, he was pleasantly surprised.

_Heard this on the bus, and it made me think about how you never win a race. The Distance – Cake._

_Fuck you! I win._

Iggy looked around, making sure his dad was not watching him.

_Thought you said Mickey was a better driver?_

Iggy looked over at Mickey, who was eating pizza bagels and watching him. _Fuck you._ After a moment, he sent a second message. _He don't race. He don't count._

Iggy smiled, looking back up at Mickey, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

_So you're a pussy?!?_ Iggy sputtered a laugh spitting out his drink. Mickey sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What the fuck is that about?" Mickey asked.

"Talking to little red." He sent a reply back to Ian. _Fuck off. I'll admit defeat when I lose_

Mickey rose, both his eyebrows scrunched up his have in confusion. "Little red? How the fuck would I know who that is?"

"My friend." Iggy gave him a look to convey that it wasn't something they should talk about out loud.

Mickey's face clouded over with frustration. "Is that a good idea, Igs?"

Iggy shrugged, looking back at his phone texting Ian. "I am just helping the kid. He's fucking south side, been on the streets since he was fucking 8. He's a tough fucking kid; he stabbed a guy for hitting him a couple of days ago."

Mickey scoffed, throwing his plate in the sink. "Southside?"

"Yeah. Didn't say much about it, though. Just his dad used to beat on him real bad. Got a shit ton of siblings." Iggy shrugged. "Told him I'd get him a new knife since he left his in a dude's thigh. I'm thinking a butterfly knife."

"He knows how to use it?"

Iggy tucked his phone in his pocket, Ian was with a client. "Ian probably does, but if not," he shrugged. "I'll teach him."

"Ian?"

"Hmm?" Iggy was digging through a drawer looking for a butterfly knife.

"His name is Ian?" Mickey pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket and tossed it to Iggy.

"Thanks." Iggy flipped the knife out, inspecting it. "Yeah, this will work for Ian."

"When are you seeing him again?"

"Probably soon to give him this." Iggy held up the knife. "I don't know how often he eats; I might get him some groceries for his apartment."

"Buy some groceries for here! You are supporting some fag whore, while we starve?"

"Fuck you! We have food. I was just going to get some Ramen, bread, peanut butter, maybe some rice." Iggy shoved the knife into his pocket and marched into his room, slamming the door behind him. He didn't think he was doing anything wrong. Ian had no one to watch his back, so he'd have to do it.

The next day Iggy met Ian at a new location. He watched Ian walk out of a motel room, adjusting his shirt with a frown. When he saw the car and Iggy, he smiled brightly and walked over to the car. Iggy frowned when he saw an older man walk out of the motel room Ian was in. He had to be at least 70, making Iggy cringe.

When Ian got into the car, he punched Iggy in the arm. "Sup, man!"

"Ginge."

"Still sure you're not trying to get free head, right?"

"Nah, man." Iggy pulled out the butterfly knife and handed it to Ian. "Got that from Mickey for you."

Ian flipped it over his knuckles, popping it open with a twist, making Iggy laugh. "Cool. Thanks!" He closed it sliding it in his jacket pocket. "You got a gun with you?"

Iggy frown, nodding. "Yeah."

"I've had a shitty couple of days. I know a place we can go shoot some stuff."

Iggy drove them to the abandoned building down the street and followed Ian through a busted window. With the way Ian did it with ease, Iggy knew he had done it plenty of times before. Iggy noticed the brick walls had a couple of different shot up posters hanging from them.

"I, uh, lived here for a while in the beginning," Ian said as he scratched the back of his head. Ian bent down, pulling the gun Iggy had given him from his boot. "Call it."

When Ian hot him a big smile, Iggy understood this was a show of trust. "Shoulder."

Ian hit every mark. Iggy laughed when Ian asked to make it a competition.

"Nah, red. I don't enter things I know I'll lose."

They laughed and cut up before plopping down on the ratty couch, enjoying a joint together. Iggy quickly realized Ian was chatty while he was high.

"You're a Milkovich, right?" Ian was balancing on a fallen 2 by 4 on the ground.

"Yeah." Iggy wondered how he knew that.

"Mickey played little league for one year. Pissed all over first base. Did they ever let him back?"

"No, that hellion had better things to do anyway, or so he said. He's a damn brat, but I love that little shit head."

Ian gave him a big smile. "My older brother was in the same class as him. I had a big crush on him when I left." Ian chuckled, falling to the floor. "It's funny to think about that now; it was so long ago."

"Oh! You did? Well, he ain't the worst looking Milkovich."

Ian looked out, noticing it was dark. "I need to get home. You mind driving me?"

"Sure, kiddo."

It was a shitty little apartment complex, but Iggy thought it looked pretty safe. There was nothing that stood out as a red flag as he looked around. He noticed that most of the parking spots were empty as if not many people lived here or didn't have cars. When they came to a stop, Ian looked up to his apartment then back to Iggy.

"Next time you can come up if you want, I have a class I want to sit in on today."

"Class?"

"I stopped going to school when I was eight, but I've worked really hard to catch up by myself. I'll never graduate or anything, but knowledge is knowledge. I had a client who is a professor at northwestern. He set me up to sit in on some course on the computer." Ian looked at his phone, checking the time. "Come back by on Friday. I have some beer, and I can show you my stuff."

"Sure thing, man."

Ian hopped out of the car and ran up the steps. As promised, Iggy came back Friday and smiled as Ian flitted around the apartment, showing him everything. It was a small studio, but it was well lived in. There were posters on the walls and string lights drooping from the ceiling since there was no overhead lighting. Ian showed him his rickety bookcase with all his textbooks, with a proud smile. They plopped down on the old and hard futon, drinking beer and listening to loud music.

It turned into a weekly thing. Sometimes Iggy would show up with Pizza, and sometimes Ian would make a small dinner. Every Friday through Iggy would show up, and they would drink and hang out. They found out Ian was ridiculously good at scrabble, and Iggy cheated at monopoly, but things were going great. Ian was glad to have a friend. He had lived on the streets for 8 years before he got the apartment, and you didn't make street friends; you made alliances. After he moved into the apartment, the only real contact with other people he had was clients, and he definitely was not making friends with them.

Everything was going fine for 9 weeks, that was until Iggy got a text telling him not to come over. He had rented Swelter for them to watch, and it wasn't a big deal really, but it made his gut clench. There wasn't really an explanation in the message.

_Don't come tonight_

Iggy texted back, worried about why Ian would cancel all of a sudden. _You okay_

Iggy sat on his couch, waiting for the reply. After a few minutes, when nothing came through, he stood pacing. Sometimes he forgot Ian was a hooker, but he remembered how dangerous it could be at times like these. Ian didn't have a pimp to protect him so that it could be anything. When the text came through, Iggy felt rage pulse in his blood.

_Client got aggressive today. I'm not the best company._

Iggy ran his hand through his curls, thinking about what to do. He texted back – _What do you need?_

The reply came back quickly. _Ice cream and butterfly bandages_

When Iggy got to the apartment, Ian answered the door wearing an oversized tee shirt and sweats. The left side of his face was swollen and purple. Iggy could see the split in his eyebrow was still bleeding, even though the wound was hours old. After they got Ian cleaned up and bandaged up, they sat on the futon sharing ice cream.

"What happened?" Iggy asked after a while.

"He didn't want to use a condom. I always use them; no one can change my mind about it. After I told him I'd just leave, he put one on, and I sucked his dick. No big deal, except he said the condom fucked up his experience and refused to pay."

Iggy's entire body clenched. "You insist on the money?"

"Yeah, I got bills. I pulled my knife on him after he'd hit me. He ran without paying." 

Iggy nodded. "Mnnn. You know who it was?"

"That guy who runs the convenience store on 167. Fucking bitch."

Iggy scoffed. "Let's watch this." He pulled out the movie.

When Iggy got home, he knocked on Mickey's door. Mickey was the only one who knew he hung out with Ian, so he was the only one he could trust to help.

"What?" He heard Mickey bellow.

He opened the door stepping into the room. "I need your help."

Mickey rolled his eyes, scratching at the back of his head. "Of course, you fucking do." His tone was sarcastic, but Iggy didn't care.

"That stupid fuck that owns that c-pak on 167 beat up Ian and didn't pay him."

Mickey rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the headache he was getting. "We'll go down there before they open tomorrow."

Iggy nodded and headed back to his room. He thought maybe he shouldn't be so upset, but all he could think about was if it were his sibling. He saw Ian as a little brother. He was softer around the edges but tough through and through. He knew Ian had a hopeful heart, but he could come off as cold and uncaring until he got to know you. Iggy had gotten to know him; they had truly become friends. He knew no matter what, he would take care of Ian like he was family.

Like Mickey said the night before, They were standing across the street when he showed up to open the store. When he put the key in the lock, they rushed across the street. Iggy put a gun in his back as Mickey shoved him towards the alley.

"We need to talk," Iggy whispered in his ear.

They had him step into the alley and press his back against the wall. Iggy smiled at the deep cut that went from the man's collar bone to hairline. He was lucky Ian missed his eye by a few centimeters. Iggy still had the gun aimed at him, and Mickey had a bat over his shoulder.

"Look, guys, whatever this is, we can figure it out." They could see him shaking in fear.

"I hear you like to beat up underage boys and not pay them for their services," Iggy said with his voice laced in venom.

"That fucking redhead?" The guy asked.

Mickey raised an eyebrow, and Iggy shifted his stance. He was getting pissed off at the guy's tone. "Yeah, the redhead."

"Look what that fag did to my face." He gingerly touched the large cut. "He's lucky I didn't call the cops."

"Oh, is that right?" Mickey asked, swinging the bat off his shoulder.

Iggy cut in before his brother hit the stupid man. "Then you would have to explain to the cops that you hired a sixteen-year-old to suck your nasty little dick, but you beat him up because he insisted on a condom." Iggy shrugged. "The way I see it, you owe me $150."

"$150? It was $100."

Mickey brought the bat down on his knee, making it snap. "The $50 is because we had to track you down."

The man screamed in pain but reached for his wallet. Iggy snatched the shitty leather from his shaking hand. Iggy took $200 from the wallet and kicked him in the face. "You ever fuck with him again; I'll fucking kill you."

When they got back into the car, Iggy handed one bill to Mickey. He would get the other to Ian later. They rode home in silence. When they parked, neither got out of the car. Iggy knew Mickey wanted to talk about it but didn't know how, or maybe he didn't know what to say. Mickey looked at him as if he was questioning if he even knew his brother.

"It's been months. Are you fucking him or something?"

Iggy had to laugh. He couldn't picture Ian in a sexual way. "No, man. He's like a brother."

Mickey rubbed his eyes in agitation. "But he's not your brother, and if dad found out, man, I don't think I could save you. Or me, he'd probably kill me too."

Iggy shook his head; he knew it was true, but he couldn't help it. "I know. If dad finds out, I'll keep you safe."

"That's not the fucking point, Ig. What is it about this guy? Why is this the stray you want to protect?"

"I've thought about that a lot, and I don't fucking know. He's a fucking kid, man; he doesn't deserve this shit. No one does. When I look at him, I see you when you were just a little kid pissing on first base."

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"He was there. I completely forgot about it until he mentioned it. He told me how he had a big ass crush on the dirty Milkovich kid who pissed on the base. He ran away a few weeks after that. Just fucking think about that; he was living on the streets while you went to school, a damn legend."

Mickey closed his eyes, letting his head drop to the steering wheel. He could see it. His brother saw a child who needed help. He saw a child they could have known, who they could have been friends with. "He's my age then?"

"Mandy's. His brother is your age."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll let it go, Ig, but you can't bring him around here. If dad finds out he's gay; he'll kill us all."

"You should come over sometime. All we do is watch movies and play games and shit. That fucker gets the best weed."

Mickey laughed, "I'll think about it."

Iggy let it go. He knew Mickey wasn't someone you should push. Iggy visited Ian every Friday for the next few weeks with no problem. Ian didn't ask any questions when Iggy brought him the money, and Iggy was glad Ian didn't have any problems after that. They had worked their way through every Van Damme movie Iggy could find.

On Ian's birthday, Iggy hopped he could get Mickey to come over so that they could have a small party, but he wouldn't. He knew Mickey was uncomfortable. He made up some lame excuse about schoolwork. Iggy knew Mickey hadn't been to school in months. There was no schoolwork. It turned out okay, though. Iggy bought (stole) Ian a new pair of boots. His were falling apart, and Iggy knew Ian would wear them until he couldn't anymore. Ian baked a cake and laughed while Iggy sang happy birthday. That was why when Iggy got a call from Ian two days later, it was a surprise.

Ian never called. He rushed out of the living room as if he was being chased. His dad and Jamie were in prison, but Colin could show up at any time. He didn't notice Mickey follow him as he answered the phone.

"Hey, red?" Mickey could hear the worry in his voice.

"Hey, Iggy." Iggy could hear something was wrong. First of all, Ian never calls him Iggy. "Can you come get me?"

"Ian, what's going on? Where are you?"

"In in that hotel on Lindon. Room 212. I, um, I didn't know who else to call."

"It's okay. I'll get you. Do you need anything?" Iggy looked up to Mickey, who looked as worried as he felt.

"Some bandages." Iggy could hear him shuffle. "Lots of bandages and some clothes."

"Okay. Hold tight, Mickey, and I will come get you."

He hung up and started digging through his closet; he pulled out a bag throwing some clean sweats and hoodie into it. Mickey cleared his throat, getting his attention. "What's going on?"

Iggy pushed by him, heading to the bathroom. "I don't know. He said to bring bandages and a change of clothes. He didn't sound good."

Mickey pulled on his shoes and jacket as Iggy threw every bandage he could find into the bag. They made it to the hotel in less than ten minutes. They both walked up to the door, and Iggy knocked. The door cracked open, and Ian peaked out. He sighed in relief when he saw Iggy.

"Thank fuck." He whispered as he backed away.

Once in the room, both Iggy and Mickey looked around. Iggy saw Ian clutching his side, and blood was soaking through his shirt and dripping down to his feet. Mickey's attention was drawn to the large spray of blood on the wall.

"What happened?" Iggy asked.

"We need to get out of here," Ian said. Iggy could hear the pain in his voice. "Can you help me with this real quick? Then we have to go."

Ian lifted his shirt showing that he was sliced open. "Fuck, Ian." He opened the bag grabbing the bandages with shaking hands. "Who did this?"

Iggy dropped to his knees in front of Ian, and Mickey rushed over, steadying the weak redhead. He could see the sheen of sweat across his skin, and it made him nervous. Ian gasped as Iggy pressed gauze into the wound. "Fucking client. Brought someone else in to gang up on me."

Mickey looked around again. "Where are they now?" He looked into the most stunning green eyes he had ever seen.

"They, uh, shit. My blood is everywhere." Ian began to panic. "My fucking blood is on everything, and there are two bodies in the goddamn bathroom. Fuck."

They both paused, looking at Ian. Mickey pressed his fingers to his eyes. "They're dead?"

"We need peroxide. We need to soak the fucking room in peroxide. I can't leave my fucking DNA here."

"Okay." Mickey sighed. "I'll go down to the store and get some. Iggy get him patched up. Make sure there is nothing else tying you to this place."

Mickey jogged out and down to the car. With Mickey gone, Iggy looked back up to Ian. He could see the fear and pain in every muscle; Iggy packed the deep wound with gauze, put a bandage over it, and taped it down. He gently guided Ian to it down.

Iggy peeked into the bathroom sing the two bodies in the bathtub. He saw that one had a slit throat. H looked closer, noticing the other was stabbed through the eye. "Damn it." He looked back to Ian, seeing that his face was swollen and bruised. It was obviously a fight.

Mickey slipped through the door carrying a bag of spray bottles of peroxide. "Just pray every fucking thing."

They sprayed the walls, the bathroom, the carpet, and the bed. Mickey even got on the floor, spraying the carpet under the bed. When the room was soaked, Mickey and Iggy helped Ian change clothes and tucked the bloody butterfly knife into the bag.

Ian leaned heavily on Mickey as Iggy led them back to the car. They laid Ian out across the back seat so that he could be comfortable.

"Where are we heading?" Iggy asked from the front seat.

"My place could use a fucking nap," Ian mumbled from the back seat. Both Iggy and Mickey turned around, looking at him.

"I don't think that's a good idea, kiddo," Iggy said as he cut his eyes from Ian to Mickey.

Ian huffed in an attempt at laughter. "I can't afford a fucking doctor, man. I'll go down to the truck stop on 49th tomorrow and see if I can make up the money I lost today."

"You're going to work tomorrow?" Iggy asked through clenched teeth.

"Come on, man, you know I need the money. I've been working less taking those Emergency Services classes, and I take my GED test next week. I can't fuck this up now. These dumb fucks can't ruin this for me. I've been working too fucking hard for some coked-out frat boys to ruin it all in a fucking hour." His breaths were coming in gasps.

Mickey looked back, noticing how pale he was. "And it will all be for nothing when you fucking die." Mickey reached back, grabbing his leg to make sure he was paying attention. "If you fucking die, I will fucking kill you."

The sound that came out of Ian's mouth was probably supposed to be a laugh, but it came out more of a rattle. "I can't, man, but, uh, maybe you can help me with the stitches. I've been practicing them."

"You want to stitch yourself up without drugs?" Mickey asked with a scoff.

"Never said I didn't have drugs." Mickey felt his lips tick up in a smile at Ian's large dopey one.

Iggy and Mickey helped Ian up to the apartment. Ian unlocked the door and told Iggy to get the plastic wrap from the cabinet. Ian spread out an old newspaper on the table and had Iggy layer up the table in the wrap.

Ian pulled off his shirt, hopping up on the table. "Alright, don't fuck me over." He pointed to the bookshelf. "That bottom row is fake. Take off the cover and grab the box."

Iggy pulled the carved wood off the bookshelf and grabbed the big steel box. He set it on the table next to Ian, who put the code in and opened the lock. He opened the box and started pulling out things.

"Suture kit, gloves, oxy, liquid morphine, cleanser. That should be it." He looked at both men with him. "I'll do the first few stitches starting here." He pointed at the spot closest to his belly button. "Pay close attention because you'll pick up where I left off. I'll talk you through as much as I can, but the pain and drugs will flood my system." He said to Iggy. He looked at Mickey with a tight expression. "Don't let me flail around; I don't want to get fucking maimed anymore than I already have."

"I don't think I can do this," Iggy mumbled.

"Come on, Ignasty, it doesn't have to be pretty. You can do it." Ian gave him his best smile even though his hair was soaked with sweat, and he was pale with blood loss and stress.

Ian popped two oxy and went to work. He first flushed the wound with a cleanser a few times, regretting not having lidocaine. He screamed through the first stitch but had it together through the second. He explained step by step what he was doing as he did it. When he passed the tools to Iggy, he was shaking with exhaustion and pain. He laid flat on his back and talked Iggy through the process. Mickey watched with an amused smile as Iggy panicked through the entire thing, especially when Ian started trying to bite back screams. Towards the end, Ian was limp, and his eyes were dull.

"Got to cut it." He whispered to Iggy, who had stopped. "And clean it." He tilted his head to look at Iggy. "Probably cover it too."

Ian felt like his body was too heavy. He couldn't move his limbs; it felt like it would take an act of god to lift a finger. He was cold and shivering; the oxy did nothing for him.

"You okay, kiddo?" Iggy asked, taping down the bandage.

"Not a kid, fucking 18." Iggy and Mickey laughed at the pout Ian gave them. "Time for that morphine."

He sat up slowly, grabbing the vial and syringe with a shaky hand. "Come on, tough guy, I'll do that." Mickey took it from him.

After a few minutes, Ian gave them a dopey grin, and his eyes were glassy. Mickey put what was left back into the box with his other supplies. Iggy put the box in it'd place and put the cover back up before helping Ian to the couch. Iggy put on Double Impact and took a seat on the shitty futon next to Ian. Mickey sat on the floor with his back to the futon, deciding to stick around with them. After a few silent minutes, Ian giggled. They knew he was high as a kite. Le dropped his head on Iggy's shoulder, almost kicking Mickey in the back of the head as he shifted.

"Your brother is pretty." Ian slurred, making Iggy laugh. "Like so fucking pretty."

"Yeah?"

Ian jerked up, looking at Iggy with wide eyes. "Eyes like the fucking sky, man. And did you see those legs?"

"Can't say I've ever looked at his legs."

This time Ian did kick him in the head when he spun, staring hard at Iggy. "They're all compact and shit, sexy fucking legs." Iggy laughed at the absolute terror flash across Ian's face. "Don't tell him I said that. I fucking mean it, Iguana, not a fucking word."

Mickey scoffed from his spot on the floor, turning to look at animated Ian. "He won't say anything, Fire crotch."

Ian flopped back, looking at Mickey with wide eyes. "Mickey?"

"Yeah, tough guy?" Mickey gave him a small smile.

"You want some pasta?" Ian stood quickly, stumbling. Mickey jumped up, steadying him. "I could make some garlic parmesan pasta."

Mickey chuckled, easing him back on the futon. "Not right now, man. Don't want you to fuck up your stitches."

"Oh," Ian looked down at his big cut. "I forgot about that."

The three sat back on the futon, only kind of watching the movie. Iggy sighed in relief when Ian dozed off. Iggy looked at Mickey with a smirk. He knew Ian had a crush on Mickey when they were kids, but apparently, it was still there. Mickey rolled his eyes then looked down at the warm hand on his thigh. Their knees were pressed together, making Mickey's heart race and his skin warm. After about an hour, everyone jumped when Ian's phone went off.

Ian sat up with wild eyes. "Fuck, it's Wednesday." He stood up, grimacing at the pain in his side. "It's fucking Wednesday." Ian rounded the futon, grabbing his phone answering quickly.

"Hey, Kiddo, today's not a good day." Ian started pacing. "Oh, you're here." Ian looked around in a frenzy. "I got to clean up some." Ian grabbed a trash bag from under the sink and handed it to Iggy, who followed him to the kitchen. He motioned to the table, silently gesturing for Iggy to clean the table. Ian gave a small chuckle. "Yeah, something like that."

There was a knock at the door, making them all turn to face the door. Ian was digging through his clothes, looking for a clean shirt, when the door opened. Mickey paused, wrapping the balled-up plastic in the newspaper, and Ian stood stock still with a shirt in his hands as a young curly-headed boy shut the door. He stepped in, looking from Ian to Mickey and Iggy, then Back to Ian.

"What the fuck, Ian?" The kid stepped further into the apartment. He set a bowl of wrapped up food on the now clean table.

"It's not what it looks like, Carl." Ian pulled his shirt on.

"What does it fucking look like?" Carl asked.

"I don't know, but whatever your thinking, it's not it." Ian rushed to his side, grabbing his shoulder.

Carl lightly lifted Ian's shirt. "The fuck is that?" He looked back at Mickey and Ian. "And what do the Milkovitch's have to do with it?" 

"They're friends of mine. It's fine, I'm fine." Ian had a desperate edge to his voice.

Carl looked him up and down before shrugging. "I brought some leftovers."

"Gallagher?" Mickey cut in. "Your Ian Gallagher?" Both Ian and Carl looked at Mickey. "I remember when you disappeared. They were talking about you being gone all panicked and shit, but you lived in that abandoned building with that tan couch for weeks."

"You never said anything to them?" Ian whispered.

"Wasn't my place, and you looked like shit. Your face was all swollen and shit; you looked like the shit got kicked out of you." Mickey rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip.

Carl huffed. "Frank beat the shit out of him. He took some tainted H, and he nearly killed Ian because of it." Carl ran his hands through his hair. "It took Fiona a week to clean up all the blood. It was so fucking stupid. I remember Frank yelling the fucking house down over a damn little league baseball game." Mickey was that Ian was fidgeting.

"It doesn't matter. "He tried to grab Carl's attention.

"No, it was so fucking stupid. He bet on a damn game. Who bets on fucking little league? It wasn't Ian's fault they had to forfeit, but Frank lost like 200 bucks. It was wild; Lip cried himself to sleep that night. I think that's when I stopped calling him dad."

Everything seemed to freeze. Ian turned quickly, so he didn't have to look anyone in the eye. Mickey started biting on his thumb nail as he watched Ian pace. It seemed like Carl was the only one who didn't understand the significance of the story. He didn't realize that he was right; it wasn't Ian's fault, it was Mickey's.

"It doesn't fucking matter." Ian spat out. "It's not like it was the first time." Ian turned, cutting his eyes to Mickey. "Anything would have set him off." Ian shrugged, looking back at Carl. "I got some money for you, and then you should go bud."

Ian walked over to his bed, kneeling next to it. He popped a loose floorboard; he pulled out a small box and opened it up. He grabbed a large stack of bills and handed it to Carl. "Make sure this goes to the bills, it's about to get cold, and baby can't take the cold, so make sure the gas is paid."

He took the money, tucking it into his pocket. "I got a full-time job now, so hopefully we'll be good soon. Lip's in rehab right now, so it is just us. I hate taking all your money."

"You drop out?" Ian didn't like the thought of that.

"Thinking about it, Fiona isn't doing good since the Sean thing."

"Don't do it. I'll figure something out, okay?" Ian smiled at him. "I got my GED test, and then I'll sign up for the EMT test. Just a few more months than I can get a real job."

"Are you coming home?" They seemed to forget they weren't alone.

"Frank still there?"

"Sometimes." Carl sighed.

"I'd kill him. If he gave me one wrong look, I'd fucking kill him. I'd rather not get locked up." Ian shook his head at the thought of going back to that house. It hadn't been his home in a long time.

After Carl left, Iggy and Mickey sat on the futon, watching Ian standing at the door with a frown. Ian leaned against the door in a moment of weakness. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly reached under his shirt, gently rubbing the bandage on his side. "Fuck." He whispered. He looked back to his guests.

"I'm fine if you guys want to head out."

They left without much of a fuss. Mickey promised to come by in the morning to make sure he was still alive. Once they were gone, Ian looked around his shitty apartment with tears burning his eyes. He felt a sob tear into the back of his throat. He dropped to his knees just in front of his door. He couldn't believe he almost died hours ago.

That night he dreamt of bloody hotel rooms and entitled men taking what they want. He woke in a cold seat and burning pain in his side. The scream was caught in his throat as he sat straight up. His breath was heavy, and his head felt like it was full of cotton. He looked around the dark room, with the sound of his ragged breathing echoing off the walls. He clamored off the bed ad stumbled into the kitchen.

He pressed his hot forehead to the freezer door. He could see every man that had taken advantage of him behind his closed eyes. He could see the man that told him the only way he would survive is if he learned how to suck dick. Yesterday played back in his mind. He could feel that coked-up frat boy holding him down as he fucked him yesterday. He could feel his friend's gun pressed against his temple, keeping him still.

He snatched the freezer door open and grabbed the nearly full bottle of vodka. He closed his eyes, seeing blood splattered on the wall. He opened the bottle and took a deep glug. He could feel the hand in his hair holding his face in the pillow, making him take another deep glug. It made his stomach churn, but he would keep it down. He could taste the blood in his mouth from biting down on his tongue. He had refused to give them the pleasure. He slid to the floor in the kitchen, gripping the cold bottle in his hand. The bottle was empty by the time the sun came up.

The knocking at the door startled Ian. He was hot and sweaty from vodka in his system. He stood on shaky legs and opened the door. Mickey stood in the doorway, watching Ian walk back to the kitchen, dropping the empty bottle in the sink and open the freezer. He pulled out cheap whisky drinking straight from the bottle. Mickey shut the door and watched Ian stumble to the table and fall into the seat.

Mickey saw that the shitty quilt was piled up on the floor. Mickey suspected Ian had got up in a hurry. Ian was sitting on the edge of the chair, leaning forward with the whiskey bottle held limply between his fingers. Ian flopped back, bringing the bottle to his lips, taking a swig.

"Isn't it a bit early for that?" Mickey leaned against the wall watching Ian shake.

Ian huffed, taking another swig. "Had a bad night."

His voice was heavily slurred, telling Mickey he was beyond drunk. "Did you drown them?"

Ian looked up, confused. "Drown what?"

"Your demons."

Ian laughed handed Mickey the half-full bottle. "Nah, they swim." (If you get it, LOL)

Mickey took a swig from the acquired bottle then sat it down on the counter. "Sure."

"It's not like it was the first time I've left a dead body in a hotel room," Ian laughed with tears in his throat. "but it's the first time it was because they put a gun to my head and fucked me." Ian drug his hands over his face with a twisted smile. "I killed him with his own gun." The tears streamed down his face, and he could taste them on his tongue. "I slit the other guy's throat with the knife he cut me up with." Ian looked up at Mickey, wholly wrecked. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"Fuck no." Mickey stepped off the wall. "If you had let them live, they would have found them in pieces, after weeks of fucking torture."

"I should leave." Ian's laugh turned into a sob. "I keep leaving bodies everywhere I go, fucking hell. It's always fucking something." Ian stood, starting to pace. "Did I tell you, Mick," He was stumbling, and Mickey had to stop himself from catching him. "Monica, my mom, found me. That fucking bitch gave us laced coke. I woke up with his cold head on my chest. I let her fucking kill him."

"Who?"

Ian stopped looking at Mickey breathing heavily. "Johnny. We lived together in some fucking den in Columbus. I fucking loved him. We were going to get out of there. He wasn't going to have to deal anymore, and I wouldn't have to dance or turn tricks anymore. We were going to get out, and fucking hurricane Monica showed up."

Mickey gently grabbed his arm and led him to the bed. "How old were you?"

Ian curled up on his side as Mickey covered him with the quilt. "Fourteen."

Mickey sat on the futon, watching Ian breathe in his pillow; he fell asleep quickly. Mickey knew he was tired and worn out. His face was peaceful and beautiful in his sleep. He didn't want to be a creep and watch him sleep, so he turned on the tv. He pretended that his eyes didn't stray to Ian every few minutes.

Ian woke slowly a few hours later, surprised that Mickey was still there. Ian sat up, rubbing his temples.

"Got a headache, tough guy?"

"Fuck you," Ian grunted, making Mickey bite his lip to stop the smile from forming.

"You good?"

Ian let his bare feet hit the floor with a thump. "Need to blow off some steam." He reached under his pillow, grabbing his gun, making Mickey's eyebrows raise. "Want to go shoot some shit?"

Mickey ran his tongue along his bottom lip with a small smile. "Fuck yeah."

They went to the abandoned building with the shitty couch. Ian let Mickey shoot first. He loved seeing the calm edge that Mickey had with a weapon in his hand. Ian loved the way he squared his shoulders and breathed deeply with each shot.

"Pretty good," Ian commented from the couch. "Better than Iggy."

Mickey twisted around, biting his bottom lip with an eyebrow raised. "Think you can do any better, big guy?"

"Want to make it interesting?" Ian grinned.

Mickey scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You don't have any money."

"Don't plan on losing." Ian shrugged. "Not too much. 20 bucks?"

"Alright, Gallagher."

Mickey was pissed. He couldn't believe how good the fucking redhead was. He thought it was bull shit, but he owed the dumb fuck 20 dollars. Also, the fucker looked good with a gun in his hand.

"You fucking hustled me."

"No, man, I never made it seem like I was bad. You just assumed."

"Fuck you, Gallagher."

Ian laughed, handing the gun back to Mickey. "Maybe next time. Milkovich."

They laughed and cracked up the entire way back to the apartment. When they got back, Ian made Mickey some garlic parmesan pasta like he promised the night before. It was the best Ian had felt in a long time. He really loved Mickey's smile and his fuck off attitude. He laughed as Mickey flipped him off when he left. He had promised to come around more often, and they exchanged phone numbers. Ian thought it could be the start of something new.

Neither Iggy nor Mickey liked the thought of Ian back at work. Sometimes Mickey would show up at the truck stops and make sure he was okay. He knew at the time Ian didn't have much of an option. He paid his bills and bills at the Gallagher household. Not that anyone besides Carl knew. One Friday, Ian, Mickey, and Iggy were sitting around the table eating chicken and rice when Ian brought up the other jobs he ran.

"I'm going to be out of state for a while," Ian said with a mouthful of chicken.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Mickey asked.

Iggy laughed at the worry in Mickey's voice. Ian raised an eyebrow, "Got a job in North Carolina."

"A job?" Iggy asked as he pushed his plate away.

"Yeah, going to be gone a couple of days." Ian shrugged. "If I'm not back in a week, will you come by and get my shit?"

"Hold up." Mickey looked at him with wide eyes. "Why wouldn't you be back? What the fuck are you doing?"

Iggy would have laughed if he wasn't worried too. "You need some backup?"

Ian stood up, grabbing their plates to put them in the sink. "I'm already working with two other people. It's not a big deal. We're just hitting some drug trucks."

Mickey cut his eyes to Iggy then back to Ian. "Hitting drug trucks?"

"Yeah, the ones that deliver to the pharmacies every day."

Iggy and Mickey shared a look while Ian washed the dishes. "Let's talk about this, kiddo." Ian huffed when Iggy spoke.

"What's there to talk about?" Ian leaned heavily against the counter. "I'll go down to North Carlina and meet up with Kat and Alex. We'll hit, maybe, three trucks. Kat will unload most of it with her crew. I'll get paid and dibs on anything we get, then come home."

Mickey got up and got a beer from the fridge. "That's it?" Mickey said as he lightly ran his arm along Ian's back as he walked past him.

"That's a pretty big job, red," Iggy said.

Ian turned to look at them both. "No, it's fucking easy. Kat's husband Kurt works for the company, so he tells us where the vans are. If you get them before the first stop, they could have deliveries for more than ten pharmacies. All you need to get in the van is bolt cutters." Ian shrugged, wiping his hands on a towel. "Usually, we take two cars and force the van to pull into an alley. Alex pulls a gun on the driver; Kat and I empty the truck. Once we're done, we get into the car with the product leaving the other car blocking the van's exit."

Mickey ran his tongue along his bottom lip. "Fucking easy." Ian could tell he was sarcastic, and Iggy could tell he was worried.

"I mean, there's a risk, but I'm a whore; I've had sex with more men than I can keep up with. I'm a fucking drug dealer. I've killed six people and stabbed or assaulted four more. I once broke into a man's house and put rat poison in every food and drink in the house. I even put some in his toothpaste. I don't know if he's dead, so maybe I've killed seven." Ian shrugged. "When I worked at the club, we'd drug the aggressive ones and steal everything they had. I've done this before. This is fucking nothing." Ian was shaking. "I've lived on the streets. I've robbed stores, bars, people, and even a fucking bank once. I've let men do some fucking horrible and disgusting things to me for money. Shit, I was in porn at the age of fourteen." His voice was raised and wobbly. "Walking into a room where you know every man there is going to hurt you in unimaginable ways and still going in to make some money is hard. This, this shit right here, is easy."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Mickey said, "Alright, Gallagher."

"But really, if I don't come back in a week, move all my shit. If I get arrested, or some shit, make sure Carl knows, please."

"Sure thing," Iggy said.

After Ian left, Mickey decided to stay in his apartment. He couldn't really explain why, but he was worried about Ian. He knew it was stupid; Ian had done this before. Shit, he had done Plenty of jobs like this one over the years. It had only been a few months, but Ian Gallagher was under his skin. He wanted to know more, and he wanted to know if he tasted as good as he smells. Sleeping in Ian's apartment while he was gone just confirmed things for Mickey. He liked that redheaded dork more than he'd ever liked anyone.

On the third day, Ian finally texted Mickey. _Everything went smoothly_

It was nothing, but it made Mickey feel better. _Good_

_Still hiding out at my place?_ Mickey was going to kill Iggy.

Mickey just replied with a middle finger emoji.

_Lol like the idea of you at my place_

Mickey's heart began to pound. _Dad's on one_

_😊_

Mickey shook his head. That ballsy motherfucker. _Fuck off._

_You love me,_ Ian texted back.

_You fucking wish bitch_

_Maybe I do_

The next morning Ian came home with a big bag over his shoulder and a heavy box in his arms. Mickey took the box, setting it down next to the bed. Ian dropped the bag and shot Mickey a big shit-eating grin. His bed was unmade, and he liked the idea of Mickey sleeping in his bed. Ian looked from the bed to Mickey with a smirk.

"The fuck you looking at?" Ian laughed, smiling at him. "What did you get?" Mickey asked.

"Plenty of shit. Carl's coming by to get some of it to unload."

"You let your little brother unload for you?"

Ian opened his box, showing Mickey what he got. There were at least 50 bottles in the box. "It's too much for me to do quickly. He can move most of it in bulk. We split the cash." Ian pulled out a bottle of Hydromorphone. "Fucking 15 a pill, I've got 300."

"Holy fuck."

"Yeah, this box is worth about 50 thousand. Going to keep some shit for my stash, though."

"Why don't you do this shit all the time." Mickey grabbed a bottle of Ativan, looking at it.

"It's hard to unload, and I'd rather not go to prison for trafficking and shit. This was a last hurrah, I guess. I, uh," he looked away from Mickey. "people don't start relationships with hookers. It's enough to make sure I can be comfortable for a while until I start working steadily as an EMT."

"Relationships?"

He looked back at Mickey. "I don't know. There's this guy I like a lot, but nothing's happened."

"hmm." Mickey through down the bottle looking anywhere but Ian.

"He's a short fucker. Eyes blue like the fucking sky. Likes to steal my fucking beers, the prick. He helped me after I killed two guys."

Mickey looked up with an angry face. "That was fucking self-defense."

Ian shook his head with a small smile. "Your fucking dumb."

Carl knocked on the door, pulling them from their conversation. He slipped in, looking between the two with confusion written on his face.

"We got to be quick. Fiona has been asking too many questions."

"Got your bag?" Ian asked.

When Carl nodded and tossed it to him, Ian started divvying up the medication. He ended up keeping some oxycodone, oxymorphone, lorazepam, and diazepam. He had debated if he might want to save some hydromorphone, but he hoped there was no reason to need such a potent drug anymore. After Carl left, Ian put away the new drugs for his stash. He pulled out a wad of cash, showing it to Mickey.

"One of the trucks also went to an apple store." He opened the folded bills showing that they were all hundreds. "12,600 dollars. I uh, do you want to order some pizza."

The smile Mickey gave him made Ian tingle all over. "Fuck yeah."

Mickey couldn't remember the name of the movie they were watching. All he knew was he startled awake when a car backfired, and Ian had his head in his lap. He ran a gentle hand through the red hair. He grabbed the blanket off the back of the futon and covered Ian with it, and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.

Ian didn't know when he laid his head in Mickey's lap, but he woke feeling warm fingers carding through his hair. He had never felt anything like it before. They had been tiptoeing around each other for months. All Ian knew was he desperately wanted to kiss that stupidly handsome face. He'd never say it to Mickey. He didn't like being punched in the face. 

The next morning Ian woke up with his face buried in Mickey's chest. Sometime during the night, they had shifted, so Ian was laying on top of Mickey. He sat up slowly to make sure he didn't disturb him. He made his way to the kitchen to work on breakfast. As soon as he started frying the bacon, Mickey sat up with a groan.

"That bacon?"

Ian laughed. "Yeah, got some eggs too."

After breakfast, Mickey left. He hadn't stepped foot in his house in almost a week. His dad was locked up, but his other brothers were there. He hated to admit that he was scared. He knew that Iggy, of course, understood. Well, maybe not understood, because he's straight, but he likes Ian too, as a brother at least. He didn't understand that being with Ian made his heart happy, or whatever. Mickey had a hunch that Iggy knew that he had a thing for the fire crotch, but he couldn't say it out loud. He could barely admit it to himself. Mickey had known he was gay and came to terms with it years ago but knowing it and saying it out loud were two very different things.

He slammed the front door open. Making sure everyone knew he was home.

"The fuck is all that noise?" He heard Colin below.

Mickey rolled his eyes and marched to his room. He looked around with a frown; he missed staying at Ian's. He had gotten comfortable in the little studio apartment; he missed the smell of Ian. He felt a small smile creep onto his face when he saw that Ian texted him.

_I need a new fucking jacket. Want to come with me?_

Mickey rolled his eyes, looking around the room again. _Fuck yeah,_ They were going shopping.

In reality, getting the jacket only took about 20 minutes, but everything went to shit while they were out. They hadn't expected to run into Lip Gallagher. They were laughing when they came around the corner and literally ran into Lip. Mickey caught Ian as he almost ate concrete.

"What the fuck is this?" Lip spat.

"Sup, Lip," Ian said as he righted his new jacket.

"How long have you been in town?" Lip cut his eyes to Mickey. "Being a whore wasn't enough, now you're running around with Mickey Milkovich?"

"Watch yourself, Phillip." Mickey cut in. Ian put what he hoped was a calming hand on his shoulder.

"It’s none of your fucking business, Mikhailo.”

“Fuck off, Lip. You weren’t there for me when Frank beat me nearly to death every other week. You weren’t there for me when Monica sold me for drugs. You saw me being groped in some club; I was fucking fifteen. Do you remember what you did or said?” Lip shook his head. “You fucking showed up and saw me being fucked into some wall out back by some old fat fuck. You didn’t fucking help or say anything. No, you fucking left and came back without thirteen-year-old sister after we closed. You called me a useless whore; you told me I’m no better than Monica. You said you hoped whatever fucking asshole killed me did it fast. Then you left.”

“What you do has nothing to do with me.”

Mickey scoffed, and Ian shook his head. They pushed past Lip and headed to the apartment. “Fuck that guy.” Ian spat.

Carl was sitting outside the door when they made it there. “Fucking hell Ian. Lip? Fiona is calling a fucking family meeting to talk about you.”

“Fuck.” Ian muttered as he opened the door.

Mickey closed the door behind them. Carl pulled a large stack of cash from his pocket. “Here’s your half.”

Ian counted the cash finding out it was 32 thousand. “More than I thought it would be.”

“Yeah, sold to Raul. His supplier is in the pen.” Carl ran his fingers through his hair. “So, what are we going to do?”

Ian grabbed a beer for himself and Mickey. “There’s no we in that situation. I’m not part of that family.”

Mickey raised his eyebrow and took a swig of his beer. “Bullshit, man, and you know it.”

Ian huffed, sitting at the table next to Mickey. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I’m not part of this. I haven’t been part of the family in ten years. The last time I stepped foot in that house, I was barely part of the family then. Fiona and Lip dried while Frank beat me bloody. They didn’t even call for help.”

“I don’t know, man. I think you should come by and tell them to fuck off. But if you do that, we’d have to explain we’ve been talking for almost two years and help pay bills.”

“Fuck that.” Mickey lit a cigarette and took a deep drag before passing it to Ian. “Why do they need to know all that shit?”

Ian rubbed his temple in frustration. “I guess what the question really is, do I ever want to be part of that family again. Lip and I might not be able to move past our problems, and fucking Frank.”

“You’ve never met Liam or Frannie, and Debbie fucking misses you.”

Ian passed the smoke back to Mickey and emptied his beer. “I’ll come but, um, Mick, you come with me?”

Mickey ran his fingers over his eyebrows. He did not want to go to the fucking Gallagher house, but he’d do it for Ian. “Whatever.”

The smile that Ian gave him made his heart warm. Ian pulled on his jacket, and they headed to the Gallagher house. Carl walked through the door like it didn’t matter. Ian knew that it didn’t matter to him; it was his house. Mickey set a steady hand on his shoulder, hoping to make things easier. Ian could hear the yelling from outside; Ian closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened the door, the house went silent.

Lip looked from Mickey to Ian. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“He’s here because he’s fucking family,” Carl yelled.

“Since fucking when?” Lip yelled as he turned to face Carl. “He fucking abandoned us like fucking Monica.”

“Fuck you!” Ian yelled. “I am nothing like that cunt.”

Lip through his arms up in the air. “With the drugs and prostitution, you're just fucking like her. The only thing you haven’t done is slit your wrists in the kitchen or fucking die in the living room.”

“Monica’s dead?” Ian asked, but it was barely a whisper, carl had never told him.

Fiona chose that moment to speak up. “She died last year, hand an aneurysm.” 

Ian let out a small chuckle looking from his family to Mickey. Mickey gave him a reassuring look, making Ian smile and look back to Lip. “Fuck her. I hope it fucking hurt.”

Lip scoffed. “You haven’t seen her in ten years; what the fuck could she have done to you?”

Ian ran both his hands through his hair. “When that old fuck told me the only way I’d survive is learn how to suck dick, she taught me to be a whore then fucking left. I was ten! She got me a job stripping at some shitty club in Iowa when I was twelve, then left me there. She left me in a fucking crack den laying next to my boyfriend's cold dead body after she gave him laced coke. I was fourteen! So yeah, fuck her. I hope she felt every fucking thing, and I hope it was fucking torture.” He rubbed his eyes. “She turned me into a whore. Every man that ever hurt me, it’s because of her.”

Lip laughed. “Mommy taught you how to suck a dick? Such a shitty thing for a gay man.”

The only person who knew what was going to happen was Mickey. He saw the way Ian had clenched the moment Lip opened his mouth and knew a fight would break out. Another thing only Mickey knew was Ian was a fucking scrapper. He should have grabbed Ian, stopping it before it started, but he didn’t.

Ian’s hand shit out fast, closing off Lip’s throat. Lip staggered back, and Ian closed in on him knocking him flat on his back with a right hook. Ian stood over him, grabbing Lip’s shirt's collar and hit him three more times before letting him drop. Ian backed up, pulling on the lapels of his jacket. Ian’s ruthlessness made Mickey’s blood run south. He smirked at his redhead, who smiled when he turned around.

Ian looked back at his family with a scowl. “So, this family meeting about me, what do you need to know?”

Fiona frowned. “We didn’t know where you were. How long have you been in town?”

“I’ve been here about three years now. I ran into Lip and Debbie just after I got here. Lip told me I’m not welcome here, so I got a place.”

“You got a place?” Fiona smiled.

“Yeah, got my GED, working on getting a legit job.”

The conversation was easy. Mickey let the family ask their questions, and Ian gave them half-truths as answers. His family felt like they were bringing him back into the family, and Ian let them in, for the most part. There were somethings his family could never know, somethings could send him to prison if the word got out. Mickey knew a part of Ian no one else did, except Iggy. The family was all smiles. That was until the back door slammed open. Frank burst in, and the temperature of the room skyrocketed.

Ian stood in the back next to Mickey. His entire body froze. For a split moment, he was terrified; he was that eight-year-old all over again. He could hear Lip and Carl yelling for Frank to leave. Mickey looked from Ian to Frank. He hated the look of utter terror that was etched in Ian’s face. Mickey rushed him, hitting Frank repeatedly. He busted Frank’s nose and lips; blood was splattering all over the floor and Mickey himself. When lip pulled Mickey off of Frank, Ian finally came out of his haze.

Mickey gave Frank another swift kick to the ribs. “You ever come near Ian again, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your brain.”

Mickey shrugged Lip off, walking towards Ian, who thought Mickey splattered with blood was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. “Let’s go back to my place.” Ian grabbed his arm, leading him to the door.

The door to Ian’s apartment shut behind them. Ian turned, looking at Mickey, who was leaning against the door. It all happened so fast. Ian pushed Mickey against the door devouring his soul. The kiss was all tongue and teeth; Mickey dug his hands into the red hair pulling Ian impossible closer. Ian shifted, spreading Mickey’s legs so that he could fit between them. Ian bit Mickey’s lip as he pulled away.

“Your fucking beautiful,” Ian whispered.

Mickey licked at Ian’s bottom lip. “Talk later, on me now, fire crotch.”

Ian woke the next morning with a smile on his face; Mickey was curled on his side next to him, keeping him warm. He pressed a small kiss to the back of Mickey’s neck. He knew that nothing was going to be perfect. Ian knew that they still had plenty of problems that could come up. Terry would eventually get out of prison, and Frank knew Ian was in town. Shit was bound to hit the fan. Ian didn’t know if it would be a forever thing, but he hoped he could make shit work with Mickey. He’d try his best either way.


End file.
